


What Heroes Do: Queer-Coding, Slut-Shaming, and Heroism on a Trash Planet

by illwynd, thebookhunter



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Criticism, M/M, Meta, Nonfiction, Other, Thor: Ragnarok (2017), ragnarok criticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-15 21:06:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18507082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illwynd/pseuds/illwynd, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/pseuds/thebookhunter
Summary: A meta essay on Thor: Ragnarok





	1. Part 1: The Theme of Heroism

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Whew. So we’ve been working on this massive essay for a while, and we’re glad to finally be able to share it. If you’re here for fic, my apologies. This time it’s some meta, and we're posting here mainly because it has to be broken across like five tumblr posts. (Though if you'd rather read it over there, be our guest: [part 1](http://incredifishface.tumblr.com/post/184297468679/what-heroes-do-queer-coding-slut-shaming-and), [part 2](http://incredifishface.tumblr.com/post/184297605229/queer-coding-slut-shaming-and-heroism-in-a-trash), [part 3](http://incredifishface.tumblr.com/post/184297459269/what-heroes-do-queer-coding-slut-shaming-and), [part 4](http://incredifishface.tumblr.com/post/184297431289/what-heroes-do-queer-coding-slut-shaming-and), [part 5](http://incredifishface.tumblr.com/post/184297424194/what-heroes-do-queer-coding-slut-shaming-and), as well as [a note about why we wrote this thing](https://illwynd.tumblr.com/post/184298844290/queer-coding-slut-shaming-and-heroism-in-a-trash).)
> 
> We are grateful to Schaudwen and both Alexes for their input.
> 
> And thank you for reading!

Hi, folks!

Illwynd and Incredifishface here, and today we’re digging into an aspect of _Thor: Ragnarok_ that we think has gone unacknowledged. This meta _is_ going to be critical of the movie, in both senses: it’s not all hearts and flowers, heck no, and we’re also attempting to actually investigate the narrative and how it functions in a couple of respects. If that isn’t your cup of tea, we completely respect that and expect that you’re backbuttoning or scrolling onward now. Go in peace. The rest of you, we’re glad to have you!

So what’s the topic? What are we going on about? Slut-shaming, and more generally the sexual politics of _Thor: Ragnarok_ and how it is not at all as progressive as it has been claimed to be.

There's no question that critical and fandom reception of _Thor: Ragnarok_ has been overwhelmingly positive. Casual audiences loved it for its humor, reviewers hailed it as a refreshing take on the Thor franchise, and fandom has rejoiced in the new material. As one point of particular interest for fandom, as long as we’ve been waiting for actual queer representation in the MCU, fandom was understandably eager for even the vaguest subtext in that direction—Tessa Thompson’s headcanon and a scene left on the cutting room floor that would have indicated Valkyrie may be bisexual, or Jeff Goldblum’s capricious, colorful Grandmaster having fun with tentacles or winking and making eyes at a leather-clad Loki. In fandom circles, many have also happily embraced how Loki is presented as a “space floozy” who is willing to use that implied sexuality to gain status and perks in his unexpected new home on the trash planet Sakaar.

A small minority of fans reacted to that last bit with discomfort or even outrage, saying that Loki would never do such a thing, that he would not degrade himself by using his sexuality for gain, and many people—quite rightly!—pointed out that those statements are pretty damn sex-negative and slut-shaming.

Both sides of this argument, however, are missing something big here, something that makes a huge difference in the meaning of all of this and how it can be reasonably understood: the way the narrative as a whole functions depends upon audiences interpreting Loki’s cooperation with the Grandmaster as demeaning, at the same time as it applies well-worn old tropes of queer-coded villainous sexuality to those interactions, making the two aspects inseparable. In short, _the narrative_ slut-shames Loki for his interactions with the Grandmaster, and it relies upon the audience’s agreement with that conclusion.

**Part 1: The Theme of Heroism**

The narrative backbone of Ragnarok is the theme of heroism. This film attempts to explicitly deal with issues of what a hero is and what they do. Whether it does so well or makes an absolute mess of it—whether the heroism the film posits is admirable in any way—is an issue for other posts. But just taking it on its own terms, the film gives us a classic scenario and distributes the characters in a classical manner, and gives them classical roles: it gives us heroes (Thor, Banner/Hulk), villains/antagonists (Hela, Grandmaster, Topaz), and an assortment of morally grey characters in between, foils who we might call anti-heroes (Valkyrie, Loki), whose alliances may shift for self-serving purposes, survival, opportunity, whatever.

With this cast of characters and with the emphasis and repetition (in the dialogue itself and in the narrative) of the idea of heroism, the purpose of the heroes (aside from to win the day and defeat the villain) is to demonstrate heroic values, and the villains are there to stand in direct opposition to the hero’s aims and goals. Villains (well-rounded ones, at least) may have values that on some level run parallel to the hero’s, but their goals put them in conflict. But the anti-heroes… it’s a little more complicated. The anti-hero may in fact have the same goals as the hero, but they will have personal values that do not live up to the heroic ideal presented by the narrative, and as they move through the story they either move toward the good or fall further away from it with their failures. Thus they will serve as a foil to the hero, providing a contrast and illuminating his heroic traits more clearly.

So how does this work in the narrative of _Thor: Ragnarok_?

**The Hero**

Heroic narratives are shaped by the narrative foils that a hero confronts. We are thus mainly concerned with the events on Sakaar, as it is the point in the story where Thor’s heroic narrative is defined and his nature is revealed before it can be put to a final test against the big bad. And during this part of the story, our main hero, Thor, is in a position in which his freedom of movement and choice have been taken by the Grandmaster. He is captured, caged, controlled. He’s in a right pickle, and the way we know we’re dealing with a hero is that he will bleed and risk his life and oppose his slaver with everything he’s got, and he will try to escape at every chance.

Always remember we are dealing with fiction, with its own internal rules and long, long history, and its archetypes and tropes. In modern western culture, heroes are a certain type of _men_ ; heroes preserve their morals, their mind, their independence, if it costs them their lives. They stand for what’s right, they sacrifice for the common good, they have their pride and their honor, and they don’t _budge_ , if it kills them. And the ultimate measure of the classic hero is how willing he is to die or suffer for his cause, isn’t it?

And Ragnarok went and picked an old, well-loved trope to demonstrate these qualities in Thor: gladiators.

Gladiators are interesting in film because they are used to illustrate a situation in which the hero is disempowered, forced to break some of his self- and social-imposed rules of what it means to be a man and a hero. But it causes him huge pain and humiliation, and we know that there will be hell to pay at the end of the story, when the hero recovers his freedom of movement and can take revenge on whoever or whatever forced him to renounce some of those values.

When a good, decent man is forced to violence and murder for other people’s entertainment, and he _has_ to do it, or he will be killed, or his family will be killed, and he wants to live another day and have his vengeance, he does it, but oh, how dirty, how debasing, how humiliating, for _him_ , putting for once the preservation of his life first and his principles second. Killing because war or ideals or whatever is one thing, but killing for pleasure? For _other people’s_ pleasure?? That’s the WORST.

And why is it so terribly horrible and shameful? Well, essentially, the hero’s _body is being used for other people’s pleasure, against his will._ There is an inherent physicality to it, such that even when the hero is the one causing harm, he is being violated by his slaver. His slaver is enjoying this; _he_ isn’t. (That power relationship wasn’t missed on the Romans 2000 years ago by the way, and being a gladiator put you indeed in the same social category as prostitutes AND ACTORS, which is to say, the lowest of the low—yes, you could be very famous and admired and praised and celebrated and certainly lusted after, but from a social standpoint, you were right down at the bottom.)

But at least in fiction, in the movies mainly, the hero is still risking his neck out there in the arena, he is putting his life in extreme danger, and using violence violence violence to survive, so yes, it _is_ terrible, but when all is said and done, he _will_ be able to redeem himself. Because at least he _suffered_ a lot, he made others suffer a lot too, _and he did not enjoy this._ It was humiliating, it was a loss of control. He did not _consent_ to it.

Something a hero does not do, will NEVER do? Play nice with his master, flirt and bat his eyelashes, and he will definitely, definitely **not** get into bed with them, ever: not to save his life, or his family’s lives, not for anything. If you’re the hero, and you’re a prisoner and screwed, you talk rudely to the master, you keep your head high, you make it clear how unhappy you are, you spit in their faces, and if they taze you for that, well, that’s better than anyone getting the impression you are going soft on them.

That’s Thor in this film. That’s the Classic Hero. He’d rather die, nay, he’d rather KILL, rather than… well, rather than get into bed with them. That is something only those without physical power and without courage (equals morals and ethics) will do. Like women. Like _space floozies._

**The Anti-Hero**

Which brings us to the anti-hero, and in Ragnarok this goes in two different directions, to very different effects. Two different characters who have “gotten into bed” with the villain who runs this trash planet of prisoners with jobs, but they have done so in very different ways.

We have Valkyrie, who is not (at the start) presented as a hero, because she fails to embody heroic ideals—when she wound up on Sakaar, she became a successful slaver. She became part of this immoral system, even if she does not believe in it or agree with it. Made cynical and self-serving by pain and disillusionment, she chose to make a place for herself there by being violent and badass enough that no one can touch her. She doesn’t sell herself, but sells her labor and expertise as she delivers fighters (and god knows what else) to the Grandmaster. Valky is a fucking _slaver_. She is depicted as an independent, an entrepreneur in this scenario; she may be stuck there, but she is in charge of her own destiny and is not complying with others’ wishes except when she chooses to do so. She doesn’t sell out, she doesn’t kowtow, she retains her dignity even when she is falling over drunk. And because of all of this, she is in the position to help Thor and thus to realign herself with heroic values; she takes a stand against the evil system she had collaborated with and profited from, and returns to the righteous fight she had long ago abandoned. In this way, in the end, without ever being asked to pay a price or acknowledge her past transgressions in any way, she is utterly redeemed.

OK, so now how about that other anti-hero?

In the other case, we have Loki, who also cooperated with the Grandmaster. However, Loki is not shown slumming and drinking in dodgy places, being tough and badass like Valky. He is not shown in a cell waiting to go out into the arena. He is shown laughing and drinking at a party, and then we see him singled out from the rest of the court, sitting in the royal booth at the games in the couch. And yet, he is not in a position of power. He is meek, doesn’t talk back, doesn’t protest, doesn’t confront the Grandmaster at any point. He is shown instead trying to appease him and ingratiate himself with him.

What the audience must derive from this is that evidently Loki lacks the physical strength or perhaps the courage to defeat his opponents, and so he must resort to _tricks,_ to conniving and deception. Like women whispering in the mighty ruler’s ear, using their charm to get their way, thrive, or just survive, because they have no other weapon they can call on, so does this type of anti-hero.

Loki managed to climb right to the top in this planet’s hierarchy in a couple of weeks. He is _extremely good_ at being a space floozy. But that’s nothing to celebrate or applaud him for. The better he does it, the more successful he is at it, the higher he gets in the slaver’s organization, the more disgusting he becomes to us, because the tools and schemes he’s had to resort to for this success place him further and further away from what makes heroes what they are.

And let’s be clear. We the audience aren’t disgusted because there is anything inherently shameful about using this sort of tactic to survive; in a different story, framed differently, we would probably perceive it very differently. We are disgusted because the _narrative_ presents it as _unheroic_. As shameful. As running counter to the principles and values that are being used to define a hero. Loki in this case is the lesson that handily illustrates the anti-qualities the hero must avoid: he collaborates with his captor, gets cozy with him (and would surely sacrifice principles and morals, if he had any), not just to thrive, but to avoid _getting_ _hurt_.

The Hulk has thrived on this planet (the Hulk—the Grandmaster’s prized Champion—has climbed high and enjoys about as much privilege as anyone on Sakaar, but because his participation is purely violent, in the arena, he avoids any tinge of shame; rather, he is for the most part glorified in the narrative). Thor thrives as well in his brief time there. Loki, though? Loki has got as far up as he can go, but the way he accomplished this is shameful and undignified and the other characters (and the narrative) tell us we should be disgusted. Because where the hero is courageous and self-sacrificing, this sort of anti-hero is a coward, unmanly, afraid of physical pain and death, willing to bend over to avoid them rather than confront them. Where the hero is forced into whatever degradations the villain visits upon him, the anti-hero _cooperates_ and _consents,_ for the sake of sparing himself such pain or discomfort.

So when we find Loki on Sakaar, he is indeed comfy and safe and away from the bloodshed, looking healthy and well, having fun at court, sitting next to the Grandmaster in the royal booth (only 6 meters apart because no homo???), _wearing his colors._ What does this tell us? Well, clearly, he has _sold out._ They didn’t strip his freedom away from him with physical violence. He is _thriving in his slavery_ because he has renounced his _pride_ _and dignity_ in exchange for favor from the one who holds his leash.

That was the easy, _painless_ option, here for everyone to see. _This_ is the alternative Thor could have taken but didn’t. Because _that’s what heroes do._

But what does this have to do with sex? Ah, well.


	2. Part 2: Sex and Queer-Coded Villainy

**The Villain**

Queer-coded villains have been a thing in movies for a long time, and as much as lots of us have embraced these depictions (we are, after all, starved for any sort of representation at all), let’s not forget that it’s _not_ actually good representation when queer = evil. In the case of Ragnarok, since the villain is being played by such a charming and well-loved actor as Jeff Goldblum, it’s even more understandable that many fans are willing to just go along with the performance and not question it. But maybe it deserves a closer look.

This nigh-omnipotent ruler of Sakaar is without a doubt peak hedonist. Wearing bright colors and with effete, feminine mannerisms and no inclination toward more stereotypically masculine activities (like doing any of his own violent dirty work, reacting with unmanly revulsion when he does melt someone with his stick, because _ew, it’s all over his shoes_ ). He leads a life of parties and orgies and games and endless debauchery, with excessive and deviant sexuality (if we recall the tentacles of the deleted scene), and extreme vanity. To boot, to further emphasize the old trope, he surrounds himself with strong, masculine women (also thus queer-coded) who carry out his orders. In short, there is hardly a classic queer-coding box we haven’t checked for the Grandmaster.

Queer-coding in itself is not inherently bad or good; context matters. How the character is handled, and their place in the narrative, matter and affect the reading. And… the context here is that of a truly rather monstrous villain who can callously use his melting stick on a family member with no compunction, who runs a society built on slavery, whose greatest pleasures involve watching unwilling people murder unwilling victims. So, clearly, this is a pretty villainous queer-coded villain. He’s not portrayed as sympathetic, nor even as particularly frightening or compelling. He is largely a flat character, with few attractive qualities (aside from being Jeff Goldblum). He is “just like that,” no explanation needed.

It’s treated as light humor and is meant to make us laugh, and shake our head in contempt, and let it go, but so have so many other depictions of queer-coded villains in the hundred plus years since movies were invented, many of which now (justly) make us retch, because of the cruel stereotyping, othering, and implications they convey. These are the depictions of queer people that have helped shape our cultural and social views, which have caused, and still cause, many people a lot of pain, under which many still live (and because of which are literally _killed_ ) today. In short, there is nothing light or inconsequential about queer-coding villains, and using it as comic relief. On the contrary.

But it gets even worse than that, when Loki comes into the picture. Loki, too, is undeniably queer-coded, as a male magic user in a society where magic was largely women’s domain, as a trickster in a culture that celebrated warriors, and now as the anti-hero, who has sacrificed his principles (if we assume he ever had any) for safety and comfort when he comes under the villain’s control. So we have a queer-coded villain who is presented as hypersexual, and we have a queer-coded anti-hero who sells out by cooperating with him, and it is implied that the charms the anti-hero has so shamefully and unheroically used to survive… are sex.

So what we are seeing is an imbalance of power between two villainous figures in a place described as the fucking worst; to top it off, Loki can’t wait to rush to the dungeons to plot murder with Thor to overthrow the Grandmaster and get the hell out of there, so the situation is hardly to be read as that of two sociopaths in love. No. It’s the well-known, old-fashioned trope of the predatory figure using his position of power to have his sleazy way with the pretty boy who submits to it for gain. It’s old as balls and deeply offensive.

The hero’s body may be used for violence and bloodshed, even if that gives pleasure to the people who own him, whom he despises. And we suffer with him, and are outraged with him, and we want him to get away and get his revenge. But the anti-hero’s way of cooperating with the villain is shameful. It _has_ to be read as shameful, or the narrative doesn’t work: if the anti-hero’s safer, easier, painless way is acceptable and without consequences, then _the hero is resisting for nothing._

And in this narrative, that act of cooperation, and the resulting shame that follows, are inextricably tied up with the fact that Loki is (or is implied to be) consenting to gay sex.

Wow.

The gladiator hero is treated with dignity and compassion and will get redemption at the end, because when push comes to shove, it was about physical power and violence, and he didn’t enjoy it or consent to it anyway. The brutal slaver who drinks too much, and has thrived by capturing and selling slaves to the tyrant, is also treated with dignity and will get instant redemption just for lining up with the hero, because she didn’t sell _herself_. The space floozy, on the other hand, the only one who didn’t hurt anyone (but himself, depending on the interpretation) is doomed, because he did the one thing a man, a hero, would never do.


	3. Part 3: So What?

At this point, there may be some objections. Even if we’ve convinced you that the narrative does use Loki’s cooperation with the Grandmaster as a contrast to the heroic values it proposes, and that Loki’s cooperation is intentionally hinted as being both sexual and queer, thus entangling the shame with the queer-coded sexuality, you may still want to argue that it doesn’t _have_ to be interpreted that way. And, well, you’re right. It’s fiction; you can do a resistant reading if you choose, or a very superficial one that merely ignores all this. But most of the actual arguments that have been made in that direction don’t do the trick.

**Interpretations and Objections**

One of the most common objections is that there is nothing wrong with it if it’s Loki’s choice, the same as it would be for a real person. But, of course, like a female character wearing boob armor and high heels into battle, Loki is fictional. We can’t exactly defend his right to choose it, because someone else is making him make that choice within the context of the specific narrative.

Others argue that they don’t interpret Loki as having consented but as having been coerced, such that his participation is little different from Thor’s, or they don’t believe any actual sex took place. And those are definitely possibilities! But regardless of whether you interpret Loki as a willing participant, an extremely uncomfortable coerced one, or even as trying to ride a line of avoiding following through for as long as possible without actually refusing, you cannot avoid the fact that the narrative is set up to shame and condemn him for his role in what happened, whatever that actually was.

  * If he is consenting of his own free will, from the point of view of the narrative, he is consenting to further degradation. Why do we claim that? Because our heroes react with revulsion to the Grandmaster’s orgy ship, for example; there is no sex-positive reading here. Loki’s willingness to embrace the depravity and debauchery of Sakaar and its murderous ruler doesn’t save him from condemnation in any way; it debases him even more, and sets him in explicit contrast with the heroic Thor, and even against the amoral Valkyrie, who the Grandmaster also shows interest in, but who is _too strong_ to be messed with.
  * If, instead, Loki is coerced, then actually things don’t change much, because while Thor is shown physically struggling to escape, Loki is not—thus, like many victims of sexual violence, the narrative condemnation is placed on _him_ again, this time for not fighting back. For giving in to unwanted advances in the hopes of avoiding violence and death, rather than physically fighting (against a much stronger opponent, with weapons and structural power) to get away. (Perhaps he actually wanted it, I suppose.)
  * And if he is stringing the Grandmaster along, the narrative is shaming him for equivocation, for avoiding the issue rather than facing up to it in the way a “true hero” would: as Thor says, a hero runs toward his problems, not away. In this case, Loki is giving the _impression_ of willingness, and he is still taking the cowardly way out.



In all of these cases, the narrative condemnation will latch onto whatever it is given, because without that condemnation, the story would not make sense. It needs Loki’s moral flaws, his failings, if his interactions with his brother and his “arc” are to be understandable at all (or simply stand), if Thor’s own arc and his whole “this is what heroes do” thing is to find any purchase.

And most importantly, it undermines a common objection to any sort of critical reading of the film: that none of this should be taken _seriously_ because the movie is a comedy and everyone is made fun of at some point. However, we’re not talking about just some offhand pratfall. This isn’t Thor hitting himself with a rebound or pleading abjectly with Stan Lee not to cut his hair. This isn’t Skurge playing with a Shake-Weight. It’s not even Loki falling on his face in Dr. Strange’s Sanctum Sanctorum. It’s a “joke” that’s built into the structure of the narrative, so on whatever level the story is saying _anything_ , this is part of that meaning. And the “joke” ... is that Loki is so spineless and shameful that he’ll consent to gay sex with a depraved madman for safety and personal gain. Not exactly funny, in our opinion.

The most serious objection commonly put forth is that these actions are _in character_ for Loki, in one way or another, and this means it’s all fair game. Many have insisted that _of course_ Loki would do whatever it takes, without shame, because he is a trickster, and because he is openly sexual in some other canons (myth, some comics). And it’s true that in mythology and the comics, Loki is often captured, forced to comply, and forced to cooperate with his captors to survive. And, as is common for trickster figures, there are a few stories about his deviant and open sexuality, and his willingness to use sex and/or sex appeal to achieve his aims (as in myth, when he shapeshifts into a mare to distract the horse Svadilfari from his work, or in comics, where he is at least flirtatious with several of his villainous allies, such as Dr. Doom and Mephisto).

This argument fails, though, for several reasons—first, again, in how these interactions are treated in their respective narratives. In the comics, Loki’s relationship with Doom (one of the most notable examples) is a relationship between equals; they are both villains, and the reader is meant to understand that their romantic/sexual interactions are both business and pleasure, and it is never entirely clear who is most using who. The point, in fact, is Loki’s unpredictability and his independence, and for the reader it’s rather like watching a chess game between masters. Hardly comparable to Loki’s situation in Ragnarok. Likewise, when the myths show Loki captured and at another’s mercy, the point is usually to illustrate how his cleverness and willingness to defy the ordinary rules save the day. Those tales are about how the trickster’s willingness to do what others won’t offers up a solution in otherwise impossible situations; the other gods may turn up their noses, but the narrative treats Loki’s actions in those stories as _laudable_. The narrative _applauds_ Loki’s actions by applauding the outcome: it praises Loki’s scheme by showing that it works and that no one else had a solution—if Loki had not come to the rescue, the Aesir would have been screwed. It even celebrates the actual offspring of this union by making him Odin’s famous steed. The tale may be told with a titillated wink and a nudge, but Loki is, in many ways, the hero, even if he is one who falls on his ass a lot and creates the very trouble he ends up in.

Not so in Ragnarok, where at every turn the narrative positions Loki as being in the _wrong_.

Additionally, while trickster figures are indeed traditionally rather infamous for their expansive, deviant, shameless sexuality, that does not mean _always, in every situation._ The context matters: it makes perfect sense for a trickster to be happy to seduce a horse as part of his own plan, or to get up to some private deals with Dr. Doom as an equal. It is rather different to talk about “consenting” _under duress_ to sex with a nigh-omnipotent being, especially when Loki has so recently had some seriously traumatic experiences under the control of similar beings; we might very well imagine this putting a damper on his interest.

(And when we are talking about the famously buttoned-up MCU Loki, who has always been depicted in clothing that covers him from toes to neck, and sharing physical touch with anyone only very rarely and with apparent reluctance, one might wonder if instead “sexual deviance” for an Asgardian might be being ace.)

So the _purpose_ in the narrative matters. The _context_ matters. And how it fits into the overall characterization matters.


	4. Part 4: So About That Characterization...

**Loki**

And now we get to where the rubber meets the road, so to speak: in terms of the MCU portrayal of Loki, are his choices and interactions with the Grandmaster “in character”? Do the requirements of the narrative, which positions Loki as a foil to Thor’s heroism in this specific way, affect his characterization? If so, how exactly is his characterization changed? To find out, let’s compare some similar situations from the other MCU movies in which he appeared.

The effects of fitting Loki into this narrative begin even before we get to Sakaar, and begin with the motivations that are suggested for him, which drive his actions and his choices. In the previous MCU movies, Loki is depicted as craving recognition, respect, and acknowledgment from those he cares about. And when that fails and he suffers rejection, we see him wanting and aggressively pursuing vengeance on those who hurt him. Driven by his ambitions, the conflict between his desire for belonging and his craving for power, and his complicated relationship with his family, he makes (often very bad) choices. Nonetheless, these bad choices are depicted as emotionally comprehensible, and he makes them knowing they hold great risk of pain or death.

In Ragnarok, from the very start, his characterization is changed in order to present us with a version of MCU Loki who would cooperate with the Grandmaster for the sake of safety and comfort. To give us a Loki who “fits right in” to this den of vice and iniquity that is the trash planet, we have to start with a Loki whose true desires, when he has stolen the throne of Asgard, are for luxury, self-indulgence, universal worship and adoration, and lack of limitations. What this Loki truly desires, we are shown, is to lie around eating grapes and engaging in frippery. (Nearly like a mirror of the Grandmaster, but—pathetically—less successful and powerful, a failure even as a tyrant.) And this Loki might scheme, but he would not be able to muster up any actual resistance.

In none of the previous movies, however, do we ever see Loki take the easy way out to avoid hardship and pain; he will do what he must to survive, and he does not stand up against pain for ideals and principles, the way the traditional hero does. But he _does_ stand up against it for his freedom, for his integrity, for the things _he_ values and desires. He does not happily give people power over him in order to attain creature comforts; rather, he will _give up_ creature comforts and risk pain and death in order to gain power and respect. Even out of sheer stubbornness: he furiously antagonizes Odin during his trial at the beginning of TDW, even after Frigga begs him not to make things worse for himself. Perhaps if he had apologized and pleaded for mercy, explained how terribly traumatized he had been, and promised to behave himself going forward, Odin might have given him a less severe sentence than life alone in a cell. But to Loki, standing his ground and defending his own perspective (his pride, his own self-respect) was more important than that, and he would not budge an inch. In all the previous films, Loki is an expert, out of pride or arrogance, at making things harder for himself with his bad attitude.

Moving forward in the tale, to the point where we see him after he has made that choice, we see a Loki who behaves very differently than he previously had in similar situations, due to the requirements of the narrative. The closest comparison to the Sakaar situation is his time working for Thanos leading up to Avengers 1. We don’t know how he got there exactly, and we do see him cooperating with a powerful figure who has at least some control over him. But in that movie, his interactions with “the boss” are portrayed very differently: it shows Loki being treated with at least a businesslike respect when he receives the scepter (of which he must be judged worthy of, which in itself implies he is regarded as a valuable servant, if not ally, for reasons other than his pretty face and whatever else). It also shows Loki challenging the Other, standing up for himself (“until your forces are mine to command, you are but words,”) even when the Other still has the power to psychically threaten and inflict pain on him (and we see Loki stoically enduring both, a situation that is depicted sympathetically, without detracting in any way from Loki’s dignity, but reinforcing our sympathy for him, while still showing Loki as the villain). It is made abundantly clear that Loki _is_ acting under duress in his cooperation (even ignoring the mind-control debate, the casual use of violence on him is there to make us question what would happen to Loki if he didn’t comply.) And Loki _loathes_ this forced cooperation, he denies it strenuously; he bristles at Thor’s suggestion that he is not in control, and he viciously smacks away any outstretched hand seeking to help him. (If he doesn’t accept the help, he can keep telling himself that he doesn’t _need_ it.)

In other cases as well, whenever Loki is being threatened or hurt, he responds with pride and defiance, turning up his chin and telling them to take their best shot: he voices mocking contempt of Laufey when he’s surrounded by much-larger Frost Giants ("restore Jotunheim to all its, ahem, glory.") Handcuffed and shoved around by his brother on the skiff, Loki still runs his mouth and tries to start a fight. He even yells back at the Hulk. Loki is an annoying, ballsy little shit even when outnumbered and in full risk of his life. (So that's that for "this is Loki and has always been Loki.” It’s fucking bollocks and comes from nowhere.)

Compare that with what we see in Ragnarok when Loki is under the Grandmaster’s thumb. To the Grandmaster, he is all deference and pleasantry. He doesn’t challenge him, but instead tries to appease him—and he appears perpetually uneasy and on edge; he doesn’t seem to be enjoying this game. When Thor unexpectedly appears on Sakaar, Loki reacts like he’s been caught doing something dirty; the mask he had been using to charm the other partygoers falls instantly, and he rushes over to Thor, looking shocked and embarrassed. (Yet another sign that we are indeed intended to interpret his cooperation as shaming and shameful, if Loki himself is shown feeling this way about it). The discomfort level rises as he is subjected to Thor’s judgment.

Another (valid) interpretation for that scene is that what Loki is feeling at that moment is alarm, panic, fear that Thor’s sudden appearance might somehow put his position in the Grandmaster’s court in danger. Loki does state—very blandly and matter-of-fact—that he can’t help Thor because he has gotten friendly with the Grandmaster and doesn’t want to jeopardize his position.

Does that mean Loki’s “doing fine,” that he is _not_ ashamed, and that he is, if not happy, at the very least resigned to his situation? Well, no: almost immediately afterwards, Loki sends his projection to Thor’s cell, seeking to collude with Thor to overthrow the Grandmaster, _explicitly_ eager to get out of his current predicament.

These depictions do appear to share a similarity, in that Loki is seen cooperating with a bigger bad, despite being uncomfortable with it. But the narratives differ greatly beneath that surface level. In the case of Avengers 1, the narrative shows Loki as a villain, but a sympathetic one. His choices are wrong, he cannot be allowed to prevail, and the heroes must defeat him. However, his choices don’t define him, and they aren’t shown as making him personally morally repugnant. The particular set of circumstances that have affected Loki’s choices and his perspective, and resulted in those wrong choices, are brought to bear again and again: this is Loki after a mental breakdown led him into villainy. The audience is encouraged to feel sympathy for him, and to hope that he will recover.

In Ragnarok, in contrast, the narrative doesn’t treat Loki’s behavior as a constrained choice (which would elicit sympathy), a clever maneuver that ultimately succeeds (which could be applauded), or a villainous crime (which could be hated but would have to be given weight and importance). It barely lingers on it, or allows any of the characters to do so, as if to say: _of course he would_. It is treated as inevitable, not worth asking about or investigating. It’s just _who he is_ —someone who would sell out his family and his world for a cushy gig.

When Thor later demands that Loki change, the narrative is taking the contrast between them, and identifying Loki’s choices as the mark of a moral turpitude that has _always_ made him inferior to Thor throughout their 1000 years of life. Loki’s actions aren’t shown as a deviation from his norm, from which he can recover. We are intended to see that they _are_ his norm, such that if he is to change, he must change an intrinsic, essential part of himself.

**And Thor**

Now, lest we be accused of favoritism, let’s also ask how the demands of this narrative affect how Thor is characterized.

What does it mean for Thor’s heroism to be defined in opposition to a character who is not a threat or a fallen companion, but a disgrace? What does it mean for Thor’s heroism to be defined, specifically, as being someone who will not sacrifice his honor by consenting to gay sex, but would rather be forced to engage in deadly violence?

After all, if the filmmakers really were after something “different” and “refreshing,” not to mention humorous, wouldn’t it have been _fun_ if it was _Thor_ the one to use his looks and charms to ensnare the Grandmaster? If they wanted to turn the tables on the old Thor so much, why not put HIM in yellow and blue and have _him_ meet the cuddly tentacles? It wouldn’t even be OOC! Didn’t he once put on a dress and pretend to be a woman in actual Norse myth to get his hammer back from Thrym? And talk about different! Talk about refreshing! Talk about _respectfully disrespecting_ what had come before! Talk about brave, and even revolutionary! It would have been a wink to the myth, and absolutely hysterical!

Well, that didn’t happen. The filmmakers considered that making Thor clownishly clumsy and changing his speech pattern was enough of a shakeup, and patted themselves on the back a lot for it. In every other sense, they gave us as old-fashioned a kind of hero as can be. We’re talking the ultra-macho ‘80s here, _classic_ in the sense of (a very shallow understanding of) the ancient Greek archetype. (Put a wig on Mel Gibson and we’re set. Cutting-edge stuff, eh?)

To see what they changed to fit Thor into that mold, let’s take a look at how Thor’s heroism was set up and defined in the previous movies for comparison.

In all cases, Thor’s stubbornness is intrinsic to his heroism. His refusal to give up or give in, even when the odds are against him, because his goal matters, and people are depending on him, and he can make a difference. Surrender is not in his nature, after all.

This is true in Ragnarok as well. But the nature of the challenges he faces and how he goes about it, that’s where the paths diverge. In Thor 1, the challenge he must overcome is, in fact, himself. He must come to terms with his own failings (his arrogance, his narrow viewpoint on the world, his first impulse of resorting to violence to address any problem) and learn how to leverage his true strengths (relationship-building, compassion, faith in others). This learning process is carried out in parallel with the narrative of Loki’s downfall, in which he faces his own challenges but makes the wrong choices because he does not trust others and does not seek help, and instead works himself up to a disastrous conclusion. The nature of Thor’s heroism is thus posited as his stubbornness, applied to improving himself as a social being.

In Avengers 1, despite Thor’s arc being only a small part of the film among many others, the challenge Thor faces is again mostly internal, and we see it clearly: tasked with bringing his wayward brother home and preventing him from wreaking havoc on the comparatively helpless population of Midgard, Thor is confronted with this broken relationship with someone he loves deeply. In the brief scene in which he hesitates to reach for his hammer in the field, we see him struggle with the conflict between two values: protecting the innocent humans, and staying loyal to his beloved brother. Sacrificing either value would be damning; in this case, the narrative pits Thor against the possibility of a no-win situation, and his stubbornness is to refuse to accept that he must choose—instead, he sets himself to the task of staying true to both values, no matter how impossible it seems.

In TDW, the narrative begins with Thor discouraged by Loki’s continued antagonism. Thor has retreated into himself somewhat: he has been shaken by everything that has happened, and as Odin pushes him toward taking on greater responsibility, Thor is reassessing what he actually wants. Thor’s established skill at relationships and constructive leadership is brought to the fore as the Dark Elves attack and Thor gathers the team he needs to enact his plan to defeat them. This includes breaking Loki out of prison and convincing him to help: here, Loki is again the foil to Thor, but as a collaborator and ally. Now, TDW admittedly suffers from all the late edits to the plot; it is hard to make quite as strong arguments here because, well, the movie started out as one thing but by the time we saw it, it had become something else (i.e., it’s a bit of a mess in places). Still, Thor is undeniably the hero of the piece, and his heroism consists of _refusal to give in_ against the tangible threat of the Dark Elves, against the simmering conflict with his brother, and the possibility that their relationship cannot in fact be repaired, and against the notion that he has to become the sort of king that Odin is. If a unified theme exists, it is that Thor’s heroism consists of finding a path that he can be proud of, rather than taking an expedient or expected one that goes against his principles. So it’s not so much about _what heroes do_ so as finding out what _Thor_ will do.

So now, what about Ragnarok? As we’ve already described, the narrative of Ragnarok depicts Thor’s heroism, for the most part, in opposition to Loki’s lack of it. What Thor’s stubbornness resists in the film is the idea of giving in to a depraved tyrant, the idea of cozying up to a madman to save himself from pain or danger. The contrast being set up is between this particular masculine ideal and a queer, cowardly submission.

The methods that Thor uses to meet this ideal fall into line with those values: instead of the softer, empathic, more socially connected Thor of the previous movies, this one brazenly deceives and manipulates his friends (Banner/Hulk) to try to gain their assistance, and he goes into a snit when they refuse (compare to his calmly noble acceptance when Jane & company tell him he’s on his own). This sets the stage for his later stubborn resistance against Hela and her bid to rule Asgard, and it is notable that unlike his previous encounters with enemies, he does not try to reason with her or talk her down; upon his return to Asgard, he opens by insulting and goading her. Because, again, he can’t be seen as compromising with an enemy or giving any quarter, not an inch; not in this version of heroism, without internal conflict, whose only self-doubt comes from fearing he will not be _strong enough_ to defeat his enemy _,_ but never wonders if he is _worthy._

**And Their Relationship, Too**

Where else do we see this change in the methods and motives of Thor’s heroism, resulting from the requirements of the narrative setup? Where is possibly the biggest, most jarring change? In his relationship with his brother.

In the previous movies, Thor and Loki had always been equals. Not _the same_ , of course; they were set up as a dichotomy, with complementary skills and flaws, able to balance each other perfectly, or else destroy each other utterly. In Thor 1, Avengers 1, and TDW, both brothers were shown as having valuable (if different) strengths, and could meet each other head on, and when they were in conflict, Loki was a worthwhile antagonist _because_ he was formidable: when faced with one another, you could not predict who would prevail. And the stakes were so emotionally rich because they also had the capacity to complete each other. The tension of seeing whether they would end up as the greatest of enemies or the best of allies was the beauty of it. The emphasis, in Thor 1, of Loki wanting to be Thor’s equal has an impact on the audience because we are able to see, in their conflict, that they _are_ equals.

To make the narrative of Ragnarok work, Loki had to be severely demoted in all of these respects. He had to be made less physically powerful, or else why would he not be fighting in the arena at Thor’s side (or against him)? The Frost Giant with ice blades for hands, the cloning and illusion magic, the handiness with his knives that makes him able to fight and best five Dark Elves in seconds, the physical might to fight his own brother, the fucking god of thunder himself, and almost defeat him (and actually defeat him) several times? In Avengers, if he hadn’t been so busy grandstanding and making speeches, Loki may have been able to stand up to the Hulk as well.

He also had to be demoted as a worthwhile ally; Ragnarok needed a foil who was distinctly _not_ Thor’s equal, such that he would have to look elsewhere for assistance. Loki had to be demoted in terms of his skills and competency from the linchpin Thor (cautiously) relied upon to enact his plan in TDW, so he’s made into a lazy, buffoonish failure and a predictable one-trick pony.

More importantly, he had to be demoted from the most important person in Thor’s emotional life, the one Thor would never give up on, to the point that he would fight against the very notion of impossibility to save Loki and remain loyal to him, never losing faith in his potential for redemption.

Ragnarok’s narrative had to abandon the previously established dynamic, in which Loki had been Thor’s best friend and closest confidant of 1000 years, the only one to whom Thor allowed himself to show weakness or self-doubt; instead, it had to be implied that they had been at each other’s throats in a series of petty, childish squabbles throughout their lives, such that Thor could be fed up and have no qualms about walking away, without introducing any pesky emotional weight into the equation or having Thor suffer any doubts or internal conflicts (which would make him into a different sort of hero—one more like he previously was).

Here, Thor’s stubbornness is not about not giving up on Loki, but the opposite. Following the argument that the ending of TDW proved Loki had _not_ redeemed himself, and therefore, that Thor’s previous attempts at reaching his brother had failed, it was clearly stupid of Thor to keep trying the same old thing. And Thor is not stupid. The tables have turned: this is a new Thor. Right? So in Ragnarok, Thor’s stubbornness is turned to the idea of not _going soft_ on his brother, either. Unlike his previous incarnation, who is perhaps seen by some as kind of a doormat that allowed Loki to walk all over time and time again, _this_ Thor is nobody’s fool. He is done beating a dead horse, and that allegedly proves how much he has grown, against how little progress Loki has made.

And just as he won’t sell out to the Grandmaster, Thor likewise will not offer or accept an olive branch from Loki. The narrative has established that Loki is _undeserving_ of any such.

Asserting that Loki had continued lying to Thor by faking his death for no reason worth discussing and showing his following actions in the most distasteful light—that Loki had banished Odin to take the throne and sit there relishing his own (pathetic) tragedy and (false) redemption, and eat grapes while “the Nine Realms fall into chaos”—Ragnarok gives us a Loki who has finally earned Thor’s permanent mistrust.

From this basis, everything else in his characterization “follows naturally”: Loki's lack of moral fiber and heroic values, his willingness to give in to the Grandmaster, the shameful ways he goes about gaining any benefits this grants him (see Thor’s disgusted look when Loki reveals that he has gotten access to the ship codes… because of what is said explicitly to go on in those ships.) All of these make Loki an unsuitable ally to Thor, and someone he shall not cooperate with or trust. (After all, we're told that Loki lies and betrays compulsively, even against his own best interest. It’s just _the way he is._ )

Thor’s heroism as put forth here will only allow him to work with Loki _after_ he has proven that Loki is not an exception to Thor’s heroic code as presented in this movie: Thor has to reject Loki and reject the shame that is attached to him. He must avoid falling victim to Loki’s tricks, which would be another display of unheroic weakness, but must trick _him_ instead. And finally, he has to give his ultimatum that Loki must _change himself intrinsically_ in order to be worthy of that relationship.

And if we accept the story that Ragnarok tells us about their history together and who they are to each other, we might not argue with that.

But this isn’t the first time the movies have dealt with the idea of there being some sort of shame attached to Loki’s identity. After all, the notion that Loki’s sorcery was considered unmanly and weak was introduced early in the first Thor movie, through Thor’s own words, as he belittled Loki for only “doing tricks” where others “do battle.” Of course, Thor says it thoughtlessly—it doesn’t reflect his true opinion of his brother or any real belief in Loki’s inferiority; Thor simply says it out of arrogance, and because he doesn’t realize the impact of his words. And those are things that the narrative of that film shows as Thor’s _flaws_ , things that he has to improve in himself.

Moreover, that realization—that he has treated his brother poorly and contributed to his mental breakdown—and how Thor responds to it, demonstrates one of the most important elements of Thor’s values and his heroic code of that movie and the two that followed: that Thor deeply values relationships, and he refuses to turn away from those he cares about. Doing so because they are inconvenient to him, or because he finds the person shameful, or because he fears to appear weak for caring about them—the idea would be anathema to him. Thor learns about himself that _he does not want to be the sort of man whose brother thinks he is ashamed of him._ He does not want to be the sort of man who is callous to those he loves. He does not want to look back at broken relationships, and know that it is because he stopped trying.

 _Surrender is not in his nature,_ he says, but that’s not just manly bravado meaning violence and struggle to the last breath, at whatever cost. It also means sticking to lost causes if they are worthwhile, keeping the _faith_ , and letting that faith move mountains. (With Thor, it usually does.)

And there aren’t many more things more worthwhile to Thor than his brother and their relationship. Thus his refusal to give up on Loki. Even when it was unwise, even when it seemed undeserved. Even on the Bifrost, after Loki has lied to him and stranded him on Earth and nearly killed him with the Destroyer when he was unarmed and pleading, Thor screams “I will not fight you, brother!” Even while the alien armies Loki had summoned and unleashed were ravaging New York, Thor once again offered his hand (“we can fight them, together”). Not one of his friends trusts Loki when Thor includes him in his plan in TDW, and gives him a crucial, central role in it—not even the audience does. We _believe_ it when Loki turns on his brother one more time, when it seems he has sold him and Jane to the Dark Elves, and we grieve with Thor this new treason, only to realize that _we_ have been fooled, that Thor was counting on the impression of deviousness Loki projects to make the plan work.

This stubborn loyalty, this willingness to forgive again and again, is seen by many (in and out of the narrative) as stupidity, blindness, Thor being unable to see his brother for what he really is. But that is missing the point: Thor can be well aware of the villain his brother has become, but that is not a reason to abandon his own values and principles. In fact, that is just when they most matter. Thor is anything but a fair-weather friend.

And, you know, in the first three movies, it also turns out that he is right when it comes to his brother. Thor does not give up on him but keeps trying. Refuses to fight him. Goes after him. Brings him home. Chooses to place his trust in him. And this isn’t Thor’s stupidity or short sightedness or his unconditional love that has him mistaken and confused. Thor’s loyalty to his brother isn’t blinding him. He believes in Loki, as he believes in so many other seemingly lost causes, and he is _right_. And although Thor’s peers are skeptical, the _audience_ is made privy to Loki’s own inner conflict, so we see how important Thor’s stubborn love for him is in bringing them back together. We see him moved and in turmoil and hurting himself to push his brother away; and ultimately, we are shown Loki sacrificing his own life for Thor, and for Jane, and for vengeance, for love of his mother, and for Thor’s plan. We see Loki brought back to himself because Thor refused to give up on him, even when that would have been very easy and the “sensible” thing to do.

In those narratives, valuing love is more important than not appearing weak. In those narratives, Thor is decidedly _not_ a run-of-the-mill macho hero because his heroism must _always_ also meet that test as well.

 _That is the heart of Thor’s story_. That is his struggle, his arc. What is a hero, what makes a hero—that was also the theme, the conflict of the first Thor film, and it continues as an undercurrent in the following two.

Thor started out as pretty much a run-of-the-mill macho hero, insensitive, aggressive, prepotent, arrogant, a “vain, greedy, cruel boy.” There was never any doubt that he was a mighty, formidable _hero_ , in the classic sense of not just possessing formidable physical strength and prowess in battle, but also _never allowing himself to appear weak_ : never budging, talking back to challengers, never allow an insult to go unanswered, meeting any threats head on (he would not even let himself consider alternate strategies or diplomacy to disarm a threat). All of that, Thor had already mastered a long, long time ago.

His _mission_ , so to speak, was to _unlearn_ all of that (let’s go ahead and call it “toxic masculinity,” with caveats) and become a _different_ type of hero. Thor must learn to care about more than his own pride. He must learn to be humble and listen to those who know better, must learn prudence, must learn caution, must learn respect (to collaborate and build up relationships, trust his allies, fight together), and must learn to talk and reason to de-escalate situations (rather than just quashing them with his hammer), and he must learn to take responsibility for his actions—all those things he would have once regarded as “weakness.” Rather than seek a glorious death for himself and go to Valhalla, he must learn to use his strength and his powers for the greater good (which sometimes means swallowing an insult or an offense, and even retreating), be a better man, and live for more than himself and his own glory (victory, the throne of Asgard, his honor). _That’s what (true) heroes do,_ or at least what the kind of hero Thor is striving to be would do.

And a crucial aspect of his chosen mission is his brother.

 _This_ Thor, placed in a narrative that shames Loki as Ragnarok does, would _defend_ , not reject him. Even if he were the only one left on Loki's side. This Thor would take Loki's hand, however cautiously, if there were any chance at all. He would not need to prove himself smarter or superior to his brother in any way. _This_ Thor has different priorities. What is treated as weakness in Ragnarok Thor used to be the previous Thor’s greatest strength.


	5. Whew, That Was Long!

So, well, that’s about the shape of it.

Ragnarok gives us a narrative that depicts heroism in, honestly, a pretty outdated, sexist, and homophobic way, involving slut-shaming Loki for (apparently) consenting to some vaguely implied gay sex to avoid pain or death and gain advantages and perks. It gives us no real queer representation— _it’s not representation if it’s nothing but subtext, Marvel ain't actually given us shit_ —and it allows the pull of this narrative to distort the established characterization of both Loki and Thor, and especially their relationship to each other, like a black hole warping space and time around it, and just as destructive.

Yet it has been hailed as different, refreshing, feminist, progressive. And many fans who enjoyed it have bent over backwards to explain away the aspects of it that are anything but.

We’re not writing this to tell people they can’t or shouldn’t like it. We’re not judging those who do—y’all do you, and don’t let anyone stop you. We’re not trying to tell anyone how to interpret the movie, either. The wonderful thing about fandom is that we all come to these stories from our own perspective and we can all have our own interpretations; we can write fix-it fics that change the things that hurt or patch up the flaws of the original, or we can just ignore the things we don’t like and embrace the parts we do. We can write meta from a thousand different angles. We can love the source material exactly as it is or alter it in any way we desire. All of that is a completely legit way to do fandom. We’re not writing to interfere with any of that.

We _are_ writing for anyone who may have felt uncomfortable with certain parts of Ragnarok, in the hopes that this interpretation might help elucidate why it felt that way. And we’re writing for those who maybe want to understand why somebody else is taking issue with it, when to them it seems like just a barrel of laughs. And also we’re writing because somebody told us to shut up and stop critiquing the movie (spite is a great motivator lol).

Thank you for your time in reading this huge thing. We hope you got something good out of it.


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